


Average Work Day

by Anarchyinplasma



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Just a small snippet thing., Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 12:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8751976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarchyinplasma/pseuds/Anarchyinplasma
Summary: Sometimes, Detective Jim Simmons hated his job.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So to anyone who reads this, it's literally just a small idea that wouldn't leave me alone and I wanted to write something about it, but it got a laugh from some people who walked in while I was doing it, so I figured I'd put it up, after all writing is for the enjoyment of the author and readers alike.

Detective Jim Simmons glared at the pathologist on the screen of his phone, the man in scrubs glared back, or at least he probably did, it was hard to tell with the mask and everything. He took a drink of his coffee and growled out another request for a time of death. In typical fashion the response the pathologist gave was vague at best. Not through any fault of the pathologist himself you understand, but because his mask somewhat prevented speech that didn't sound as though it had emanated from the vocal chords of Cthulu. Jim levelled a bored glare at the screen and gave a deadpan  
“What...?”

 

In response the Pathologist ripped his mask away from his face with a sigh and replied  
“You’ll need to give me a minute.” He turned to his right and had a muffled conversation with his assistant, in the off-screen, a gun was briefly cocked and fired. The pathologist checked his watch.  
“12.05 Dectective, can I get started with the autopsy now?”  
Jim nodded and cut the call, walking back to the crime scene and spotting his junior attempting to draw a chalk outline on the pavement. He sighed.

 

“Charlie,” he called, walking very slowly over to remove the chalk from the red-stained fingers, “surely the fact that you’ve had to redo your chalk outline a grand total of” he glanced momentarily around the surrounding area “thirteen times now” he paused and waited for his words to sink in, “is an indication to you that the victim is still alive.” Charlie paused and waited, watching the blood oozing out onto the pavement from the papercut the victim had on his finger. Slowly he relinquished his chalk and nodded, passing the victim routine forms to fill out regarding the robbery of his 300 sheets of loose paper.


End file.
